No Notes
by anarchic.chick
Summary: Meet Draco Malfoy. Though perhaps you don't want to. Stuck-up and self-obsessed, Draco's made a reputation for himself as Harry Potter's nemesis. His father locked away in the depths of Azkaban, Draco must complete the Dark Lord's newest - and hardest - assignment for him alone. Drarry fanfiction :)
1. Chapter 1

**Summary **

_(Because I don't know how to work this thing...) _

_**Meet Draco Malfoy. _Though perhaps you don't want to.  
Stuck-up and self-obsessed, Draco's made a reputation for himself as Harry Potter's **arch-nemesis**. When things got rough before, Draco had his father to bail him out.

_But not anymore. _His father locked away in the depths of Azkaban, Draco must complete the Dark Lord's newest - and hardest - assignment for him **alone_, _**with only the incompetent fools Crabbe and Goyle for assistance.

_In order to survive_, Draco's going to need to drop the '**conceited-rich-kid**' act and resort to some crude methods of devilry and debauchery to complete his task; maybe it'll even include seducing the infamous goody-two-shoes Harry James Potter.**

_Set at the beginning of The Half Blood Prince, book seven.  
Pairings: Drarry (Draco x Harry)_

Owls didn't fly to Azkaban.

Thus, no letters were read by prisoners.

Perhaps the Dementors read them instead. Draco amused himself briefly with the thought of the hooded, demonic beings kicking back on a leather sofa and having a good laugh at the letter Draco had written to his father. Except, of course, Dementors no longer guarded the gates of Azkaban. And they certainly didn't laugh.

_But the letters probably don't even make it that far, _Draco mused. His eagle owl, Aquila, had only been away for a day before returning: certainly not enough time for her to reach the isle upon which Azkaban was located.

"Draco?"

Staring blindly out of the train compartment's window, Draco blinked. Pansy's voice had startled him out of his thoughts, which - naturally - had come to rest on his own appearance after briefly lingering on his father's imprisonment in Azkaban.

"What?" Draco demanded, trying not to let his mask of patience slip. Bad for your reputation, really, if you got annoyed at people who you classed as '_friends_'.

Not that Draco would confide in them. Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle: idiots, the lot of them. And Blaise Zabini wasn't much better - he, like Draco, was a little too obsessed with his own reflection.

"I asked you if you did anything interesting this summer?" Pansy tilted her head questioningly, her small, dull eyes brimming with concern and devotion.

"No." Draco replied shortly. In fact, countless interesting things had happened over the course of summer - but he wasn't about to share them with her. Pansy, despite her apparent loyalty, would most likely share anything he told her with her closest friends, which included Millicent Bulstrode and Daphne Greengrass.

_Liabilities, the lot of them. _

"Oh... okay." Pansy sounded uncertain.

Draco was eager to return to his own thoughts, but the logical part of him urged him to re-establish the trust Pansy Parkinson placed in him.

_Who knows if I might need her in the future? _

Though why Draco would need Pansy Parkinson, he didn't know. Certainly not as a bride or girlfriend of any sort... but would it be safer to marry her, than fall in love with a half-blood - or, even worse, a _Mudblood_ or... God forbid... a _muggle_?

No matter. If Draco fell in love with the wrong person, he'd cast his affections aside. What was more important - _much _more important - was cementing a place for himself in the world.

"Did _you_ do anything interesting this summer, Pansy?" Draco decided on asking. He really had no interest in _anything _Pansy may or may not have done - he had other things to think about than her exploits - but it would be polite to ask.

"Oh, yes!" Pansy beamed at his interest, and Draco smothered the urge to roll his eyes under a mask of polite intrigue and a nod of acknowledgement.

As she began prattling on - something about her father's chalet in the South of France and her neon-pink bikini (Draco didn't want to think about her rolls of barely-concealed blubber forced into a bikini) - Draco stared at the faint reflection of himself in the window pane.

He didn't pride himself on being the model Zabini was. Not at all.

But he did have the high cheekbones; they cast shadows down his jaw, something which he _knew _girls found attractive (at least, Pansy liked pointing them out). His eyes, a pale blue, were arctic and aloof and alluring all at once. A pointed jaw made his face slim, not the pudgy balls Crabbe and Goyle's faces were. And his hair, while it wasn't dark and invitingly ruffled like Zabini's was, wasn't greasy or stringy or bushy (like that Mudblood Granger's hair).

"Blaise!"

Alerted to the seventh-year's arrival by Pansy's pause in her monologue, Draco summoned a smirk as the attractive boy sloped into the compartment, pulling the door open.

However, he struggled to shut it. Draco watched - barely concealing his amusement, and not feeling any guilt over the fact he had no interest in helping - as Zabini tugged at the sliding the door, swearing softly. Suddenly, the door shot open - Draco laughed outright - and Zabini was sent sprawling into Goyle.

"What the -?" Goyle growled furiously at Zabini. His pink cheeks and darting eyes revealed that he didn't really _mind _Zabini sitting in his lap, and Draco smiled coyly, reveling in the fact he had a new secret about one of his 'friends'. So Goyle _liked _Zabini, huh?

Draco wasn't really _sure_ about the Dark Lord's view on homosexuality. It was probably disapproved of - how were pure-blood families supposed to reproduce? - and Draco's smile widened. Another positively _easy _way to blackmail Goyle into servitude, though the boulder of a boy hardly needed any encouragement on the loyalty front.

"What - _hell - _idiot!" Zabini blustered. He obviously wasn't impressed.

Curiosity pulled at Draco's thoughts. Why wasn't the door shutting -?

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco thought he caught a glimpse of motion. A floating - wait, a floating _shoe_? The faint snap of a cloak heard over the growls as Zabini and Goyle raged at one another?

Draco's lips pinched with suspicion, but he pushed it aside. Until he thought of an answer, there was no use pointing fingers and randomly accusing people. Though, quite obviously, the source was probably Potter.

Harry Goody-Two-Shoes Potter, determined to tattle on his nasty enemy, Draco Malfoy.

Harry Potter's world was black and white, goodies and baddies, heroes and criminals. Draco's world was more blurred: if he didn't help the Dark Lord, his father would end up imprisoned in Azkaban for the rest of his _life. _Yes, he'd made mistakes (being caught was one of them) but he was Draco's _father. _Public humiliation and disgrace didn't come into it. Blood - _especially _pure blood - was thicker than water, after all.

"So -" now that Zabini and Goyle had sorted out their feud (Goyle's cheeks still tinged red) Draco felt he could start talking "- Zabini, what did Slughorn want?"

"Just trying to make up to well-connected people," Zabini replied dismissively, still fuming at Goyle, who seemed to be secretly enjoying the attention. Draco - tempted to point out Goyle's accidental attraction for all to see - leaned into Pansy's lap, and tried to suppress the want - no, _need - _to humiliate his 'friend'. "Not that he managed to find many."

Draco frowned to himself. Surely Slughorn would want him in his little collection, too? Hadn't his father - before he was shipped off to Azkaban - told him _all _about Horace Slughorn, about how Lucius had been chosen?

"Who else had he invited?" Draco demanded irritably, grudgingly allowing Pansy to stoke his hair. No harm in it, when all was said and done.

"McLaggen from Gryffindor -" Draco recalled that the boy, wiry-haired and ridiculously well-built (pumped on steroids? Draco had to investigate, perhaps McLaggen could become an asset through a little blackmail) had superb connections throughout the Ministry - "someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw -" nope, Draco didn't know any 'Belby', though since Pansy declared he was 'a prat', he probably wasn't of any use or interest - "and Longbottom, Potter and that Weasley girl."

_Longbottom? What's _that _idiot got to do with this? _

Draco bolted upright, alarmed. A gap in his information. That idiot wasn't connected - aside from the fact Longbottom had been involved in the Ministry exploit last year - he had nothing _going _for him. Did he? Draco would have to find out.

"He invited _Longbottom?" _Draco repeated incredulously.

"Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there," Zabini wasn't amused by the fact Draco doubted him.

"What's Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?" Draco asked himself feverishly; unnoticed by Draco, Zabini shrugged, and Crabbe and Goyle shared equally clueless glances (Goyle's cheeks had finally returned to their usual colour).

Shaking off the uncertainty, Draco considered the last two names Zabini had recited.

"Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at the _Chosen One_," Draco sneered angrily. His thoughts steered violently from Goyle's hilarious crush on Zabini to Potter, with his vivid green eyes and long legs and - well, whatever. "But that Weasley girl! What's so special about _her?_"

"A lot of boys like her," Pansy said quickly - a dab nervously. "Even you think she's good-looking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!"

Draco deliberately thought of the Weasley girl - Ginny, or something ridiculous. Pretty, he guessed. Not really something he'd go for... but then again, what _would _he go for? Definitely not a round, curvy girl like Pansy (though he knew Crabbe liked those sorts, not that he'd ever get a girlfriend - not with that face). Not a skinny, sallow-faced girl like Daphne Greengrass, or a horse-faced troll of a girl like Millicent Bulstrode. Nor a pretty, warm-looking girl like Ginny Weasley (no matter how pure her blood was). So - _who? _

"...whatever she looked like." Zabini had been talking, but Draco wasn't interested. The conversation strayed back to Slughorn; Draco felt annoyed as Zabini revealed that Slughorn wasn't 'interested in Death Eaters'. It was only a matter of time before the Ministry fell, and then that old man wouldn't feel so confident going against the Dark Lord's followers _then. _

Draco crushed his irritation and attempted a laugh.

It came out hollow and empty, humourless. A pang of grief at his father's absence coursed through him.

"Well, who cares what he's interested in?" Draco barked, blinking at the tears of injustice and hurt and anger, the black, boiling pain that had been brewing since his father had left. "I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what's it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?"

"What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?" Pansy sounded upset and Draco's insides burned with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

And fear. There was plenty of fear in there.

"Well, you never know," Draco attempted to smirk, despite the writhing snakes in his stomach. Snakes were a _good _thing. Slytherin was represented by them, wasn't it? "I might have - er - moved on to bigger and better things."

Draco paused to allow his words to sink into the consciousness of his companions. Zabini looked darkly intrigued. Crabbe and Goyle gaped like aired fish. Pansy looked stupefied (not much different from her normal expression, then) and continued petting Draco like her favourite cat.

"Mother wants me to complete my education..." Draco began, the nerves in his gut settling as he noted the awe in his colleagues' faces. "...the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown..."

"And you think _you'll _be able to do something for him?" Zabini sounded incredulous. "Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?"

_Sixteen years old. _It sounded so mature, so grown-up... but inside, Draco still felt like the anxious first-year he'd been at the beginning. Back when everything was different; less complicated.

"I've just said, haven't I? Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn't something that you need to be qualified for." Draco murmured softly - he hadn't meant for it to slip. They might call themselves 'friends' but they could still tell someone - _threaten him - _and Draco pursed his lips. He'd said too much.

"I can see Hogwarts," Draco removed himself from Pansy's lap, feeling slightly flustered - but proud of himself too. A little pompous. But being self-confident had never hurt anyone... at least, not anyone who hadn't made mistakes. "We'd better get our robes on."

Draco watched as Goyle, Crabbe, Zabini and Pansy shook off their stupor and fumbled for their uniform a little dazedly. Goyle moved to reach his trunk; Draco's eyes followed his action out of boredom.

A gasp of pain sounded; Draco stiffened as the sound came from thin air. _What - ?_

Realisation came to him.

_"When I was a Prefect, there was always one trouble-maker who managed to evade me: James Potter, and his little band of merry-men. It did not take me long to work out that he was sneaking around after-hours in an Invisibility Cloak; he was inexperienced at concealing crucial details (such as his feet and ankles). I followed up the matter with Dumbledore, but naturally, the fool took no further action and James Potter was allowed to continue his jokes and pranks all over the school._

_Though it's unlikely, Harry Potter may have inherited said Invisibility Cloak - no doubt with a little help from Dumbledore. Watch out for that, Draco. Potter will no doubt target you because of our previous ties with the Dark Lord... and because he'll be a pretentious little git, just like his father." _

"Draco?"

Draco had been pulling on his cloak, barely aware of his surroundings as he recalled one of his father's warnings from the summer before first year.

"You go on," Draco ordered of Pansy, who'd been offering her hand hopefully. He decided against a derisive snort - did she _honestly _expect him to hold hands with a girl like _her _in public? So they were friends - so what? He'd rather gut himself with a blunt knife than be seen showing affection toward her. "I just want to check something."

Pansy pouted, leaving the compartment after the direct command. Draco's heart was in his mouth. What if he was wrong? He was almost _certain _he wasn't - but what if...?

"_Petrificus Totalus!" _

A painful-sounding crash. As Draco suspected, Harry Jack-Ass Potter tumbled from where he'd been crouched in the luggage rack.

Staring down at him, Draco felt a pang of sympathy for the attractive - wait, no - annoying boy he'd come to call _enemy. _It looked a little uncomfortable, lying on his back, his legs still curled in a kneeling position. But the short-lived sympathy was quickly replaced by jubilation at his correct assumption.

"I thought so!" Draco declared triumphantly. Finally - something going _his _way. "I heard Goyle's trunk hit you. And I thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back..."

_Slow down, Draco, _he told himself. Happiness and pride coursed through him; he wanted to show Potter his incredible skills of deduction. How he'd figured it out. Draco deserved some praise, for once.

"That was you blocking the door when Zabini came back in, I suppose?" Well, he couldn't answer, so Draco guessed so. He stared down at Potter, considering the handsome face, the bright eyes (currently burning with anger).

"You didn't hear anything I care about, Potter." Draco reasoned slowly. "But while I've got you here... "

If Potter was expecting a kiss, or a love confession (why _would _he? Draco mentally told himself off for thinking such strange thoughts. Perhaps Goyle's desires were affecting him?) he didn't get it. Draco raised a food and stamped on Potter's face.

"That's from my father. Now, let's see..."

Taking a hold of the slippery material of the fabled Invisibility Cloak, Draco admired it for a few seconds. He was tempted to take it for himself. But something stopped him - this had been a gift to Potter, from his father. His dead father.

Draco knew how it was to be without a father.

So, instead, he threw the Cloak over Potter's frozen frame and took a step back. "I don't reckon they'll find you till the train's back in London," Draco informed Potter quietly. "See you around, Potter... or not."

Draco turned and left the compartment.

**Well... uh... Draco, meet reader. Reader, Draco.  
**So he's not some goodie-goodie filled with morality. Boo-hoo.

_Well, either way, I hope you enjoyed it c: _


	2. Chapter 2

Palm cradling his chin, Draco stared out across the Great Hall in a state of Great Boredom. Bored, bored, bored; he'd eaten his full, and now he was being treated to the Pansy-update on Hogwarts gossip. Not that it wasn't interesting (some scandalous rumour about Natalie McDonald, a Gryffindor second-year) but Draco really had other things on his mind.

Like, for one, where was Harry Potter when Draco wanted to mock him? Despite Draco's parting words, the amount of security placed around the precious 'Chosen One' probably far exceeded that of even the most valuable Gringotts vault; no doubt _someone _would find him, at _some _point.

Draco wasn't too concerned _when_. He just wanted this inane boredom to end.

"... I mean, I can't believe _anyone _would do that - even a Gryffindor - with a _Muggle_!" Pansy shrieked, an ugly, snorting-and-grunting laughter shaking her bulky form. Draco, bored beyond belief, rolled his eyes.

"Bored, are we?" Zabini enquired snidely. Draco shot him a withering look, but it was lost upon the attractive Slytherin as his eyes slid from Draco, over to the entrance of the Hall. "Oh, don't worry though, Draco. I've found something to help you occupy yourself."

While he didn't appreciate the slightly condescending tone Zabini was using - as though he was addressing a child, which Draco was most certainly _not - _Draco looked over to the entrance and felt a true grin prick on his lips.

Harry Potter had stalked in, the picture of a fallen angel - dark hair falling over his eyes, his impressive form slouched, blood splattered all across his face - and moved to the Gryffindor table, impervious to the contemptuous looks he was receiving from most occupants of the Slytherin table.

"What did you do?" Rather than sounding repulsed - as most _should, _really - Pansy sounded awed, as though Draco had completed some monstrous feat. Draco smiled. He was, after all, a Slytherin too.

"Oh, nothing much," He replied airily, not quite smothering his signature smirk. "I just stamped out some vermin when I got off the train."

"Awesome." Crabbe and Goyle breathed simultaneously; Draco's sense of self-importance grew and he glanced across at Zabini, and was gratified to see the boy looking grudgingly impressed by Draco's actions.

"Impressive," Zabini admitted, his face screwed as though the word was difficult to get out. "How'd you manage that one, then?"

Draco quickly mimed his way through the whole charade; upon finishing, those closest to him burst into laughter, and a few Slytherin eavesdroppers even applauded him. Draco pointedly ignored the Ravenclaws who, on the table nearest, had looked over their shoulders to offer him cold, hostile glares.

"You're amazing, Draco!" Daphne Greengrass gushed, leaning toward him with fluttering, pale green eyes, a coy smile curling her lips. Pansy, none to subtly, grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and dragged her away from Draco in an attempt to stop the girl's flirtatious behaviour.

"Thanks," Draco smirked, enjoying the sense of satisfaction brewing within him as the two girls argued in hushed voices. On a whim, he glanced to the Gryffindor table; just in time to catch Potter quickly looking away. Draco smiled. _Annoyed, are you, Potter? Angry? A little scared? Get used to it. _

Turning back to Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle and Zabini - whom several Slytherin girls were regarding with interest - Draco rested his chin on his hand once again and sighed with contentment. Although watching Crabbe and Goyle stuff themselves with dessert wasn't a pleasant sight - it never was - Draco felt calm. Relaxed. Peaceful.

And then Dumbledore stood.

Something inside of Draco clenched when he watched the old man rise. It was something like... pity. Not to know your death was so fast approaching...

"The very best of evenings to you!" The old man declared loudly, and Draco snorted softly. And, as did usually happen when teachers started talking, Draco's concentration broke. His thoughts snapped back to his father, gaunt and waif-like in a grotty Azkaban cell; Draco's own appearance, about whether he should perhaps trim the front of his white-blond hair; Pansy and Daphne's hopeless crushes on him, because he would never, ever love them the way they wanted him too...

Very distantly, Draco heard the explosion of applause as Snape was named the new teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts... he'd already known, of course, and how pathetic, ironic it was...

"Draco!"

Pansy's voice - nasal, an annoying, high-pitched sound that occasionally reminded him of Professor Umbridge - pulled Draco out of his reverie. Blinking, he realised he'd been absent-mindedly making a fork hover a few inches from the table; now, interrupted, it fell back onto Draco's plate with a clatter.

"What?" Draco asked, looking around: students were pouring out from the Great Hall, chattering happily, apparently excited for their long year of magical education. Though it probably wouldn't be _that _long... not once Draco finished the task his Master had assigned...

"Everyone's going now," Zabini remarked smoothly, inspecting a fingernail casually and ignoring the twitterings of nearby girls as he grin devilishly at Draco. "Even your boyfriend's going, look," he added, making a vague hand gesture towards the Gryffindor table, and its last members. Harry Potter and his two accomplices - the Weasel King and the bushy-haired Mudblood - were getting ready to leave. As Draco watched, the Mudblood pulled away and Potter knelt to tie a shoe-lace.

"He's not my boyfriend," Draco snarled irritably; Pansy looked shocked by the very idea. "Where _do _you get these sick ideas from, Zabini? Or is it because you're having them yourself?"

"No, I'm not -" Zabini rose to Draco's words with predictable rage; Draco felt a deep, vindictive satisfaction as several girls looked a little frightened by Zabini's sudden temper flare.

"As long as you're _sure_," Draco drawled; he had the upper hand at this point, and was going to use it to his advantage. "I mean, the Dark Lord doesn't approve of gays, Zabini... why, they're almost as filthy as _Muggles..." _A gaggle of girls, looking appalled at this, shuffled warily away from Zabini - who gave a roar of rage and stormed away, his long legs carrying him faster than Draco could be bothered to keep up with.

"Nice one," Crabbe snickered, watching Zabini disappear. Goyle looked a little mournful at the loss of Zabini from their little company, and this only improved Draco's mood.

"I know," Draco grinned, watching Zabini's tall figure vanish in the crowd. "What an idiot." Crabbe nodded vehemently, though he was the only one out of the four who did. Pansy was watching one of the departing Gryffindors with eyes narrowed suspiciously; Goyle was still focused entirely where Zabini had vanished.

"Well, let's go," Goyle mumbled eventually, looking saddened. Draco longed to point out that he was making his affections _far _too obvious, but knew it would do nothing to improve the lout's mood. Or his loyalty - something which would play a key part in the months to come.

The four of them steadily made their way to the Slytherin common room; Goyle moped, Crabbe talked enthusiastically of the Muggles he'd beaten over the holidays, and Pansy stared blatantly at Draco, subtle as a flying brick. Draco smirked and nodded along to Crabbe's monologue, appearing as the supportive friend.

The Slytherin dungeon was, contrary to most opinions, a welcoming sight to Draco. The whispering sound of shifting water, the eerie-green glow that bathed the dark furnishings in an ethereal light; the windows, magically enforced, revealed a murky world beneath the lake. The giant squid occasionally drifted past, looking blissful. It was... a peaceful place. The Slytherins, a united force against the rest of the world. Here, it didn't matter if they were the bad guys.

"Good night," Pansy bid to the others, her piggy eyes pinned to Draco - her farewell was directed at him. "See you in the morning."

"Yeah." Draco turned dismissively and stalked to his dormitory. He ignored the glowers from Blaise Zabini, who was slouched in a decadent armchair a little way away.

Collapsing on his bed, the tension eased out of Draco's muscles. It'd be a pathetic excuse to say that it'd been a long day, but it _had _been. What with Potter, Zabini, Pansy, Daphne... Draco's eyelids slid shut. Immersed in darkness, the swishing sound of water surrounding him, Draco could almost believe he was deep under the lake. Quiet, peaceful, relaxing...

"Draco! Draco! Are you okay?" Crabbe and Goyle bounded in, probably noticing Draco's prolonged absence. Draco's eyes snapped open.

"Yeah! God, you idiots, I'm just resting!"

"Oh... sorry..." Crabbe stuttered. Goyle blinked, shame-faced.

They left. Draco scowled to himself, and stared up at the ceiling; through several meters of rippling water, the moon shone brightly. Draco smiled faintly, and knew that somewhere, despite their distance, his father was looking up at the same moon.

Allowing himself a moment of melancholy, Draco rolled over and fell asleep.

**This is where it starts deviating from the actual book.  
***throws her copy of 'The Half-Blood Prince' over her shoulder, into the abyss*

_Though of course I'll follow the basic plot-line... probably ;)_


	3. Chapter 3

Watching Crabbe and Goyle play Wizard's chess _had _to be one of the most utterly amusing things on the planet.

Both being incompetent oafs, their brows puckered in confusion as their pieces danced around the chessboard, shouting complaints and cursing angrily. Draco was outright laughing, stifling the sound with a sleeve of his robes.

"Uh... horsey-dude to... J-3?" Crabbe guessed, jabbing a bulky finger at one of the pieces.

"I'm a _knight_, you idiot!" The piece shrieked with indignation. "And there's no such thing as J-3, it only goes up to H!"

Crabbe pulled a face. It didn't look as though he'd understood a word of what the chess piece had said. Draco wiped tears of laughter from his cheeks, wrapping one arm around his rib-cage in an attempt to stop them aching.

"My turn," Goyle interrupted gruffly. "_You - _" he pointed at his Queen - "take out _that _guy." Goyle, this time, pointed at one of Crabbe's pieces.

"I can't _get _there," the Queen replied in an irritable voice, sounding more than a little impatient. "Unless you want me to somersault over a couple of his pieces and then cartwheel into position?"

Draco couldn't contain his laughter much longer. Tears streamed silently down his face as he shook with sniggers. Despite his stern mental orders that he stop, he couldn't help himself. Crabbe and Goyle's stupidity was just _too _hilarious.

"I gotta go." He choked out eventually, darting from his armchair and out of the Slytherin common room. Once outside, he took a steadying breath. In their free lesson time, rather than work on their respective assignments, the two goons had attempted a game of Wizard's chess. Thus Draco's current state of hysterical laughter.

Deciding it was best to _avoid _the common room for a while - at least, until Crabbe and Goyle had finished their 'game' - Draco strode through the dungeons, quickening his pace when he heard Pansy call his name. Later, when she pouted and fluttered non-existent eyelashes at him, he could pretend he didn't hear her. He did it all the time - why concern himself over it now?

Well, whatever. There was still a spare hour before Defence Against the Dark Arts - time he could spend in the Room of Requirement, fixing the -

"Hey!"

There was a yell of protest as Draco collided with someone. Blinking in shock, Draco stumbled back a few steps, eyes wide: he had mistakenly run into Blaise Zabini, who'd been prowling around the dungeons like an overgrown cat. Swallowing his anger, Draco frowned and opened his mouth to grudgingly apologise.

"Idiot! I _bet _you did that on purpose!" Zabini hissed, his dark, slanted eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

Draco's frown became a scowl. Screw an apology - if Zabini treated him like _that, _Draco wasn't going to be responsible for Zabini's resulting injuries.

"Like hell I did it on purpose!" Draco retorted angrily, and for once, truthfully.

"Don't even _try _it, Draco! You're just bitter because Slughorn didn't invite you to that damn party of his." Zabini sneered; Draco grit his teeth and clenched his fists. Usually, Draco _would _have been jealous; but this year was different. His Master had given him a task, and its importance far exceeded that of any parties Slughorn might or might not be hosting.

Draco opened his mouth to tell Zabini this. Unfortunately, as was what usually happened, the words got lost on the way to his mouth.

"Shut the hell up, _Blaise_. At least _my _mother isn't a tramp who'll marry anything as long as it's got money."

Oops. Draco clapped his mouth shut and reminded himself that just because he enjoyed saying these things inside his head didn't mean he could say them out loud.

Zabini's face, usually attractive and complacent, twisted with anger. "_What _did you just say about my mother, Malfoy?"

"Well, _everyone_ says it, Zabini, just they do it behind your back." Draco was definitely digging himself a grave with this one. But he couldn't stop himself, not quite. Yesterday's remark - '_even your boyfriend's leaving_' - still stung like an open wound. Harry Potter, as Draco's boyfriend? Yeuch, no thanks.

"I'll teach you to be rude about my mother, Malfoy," Zabini snarled, his hand diving into a pocket and retrieving his wand. Draco raised a delicate eyebrow.

Over the summer, his aunt Bellatrix had introduced him to multiple dark spells - curses, jinxes, hexes - stuff that would have been useful the previous year, when trying to catch Potter's gang - 'Dumbledore's Army', or something like that. Zabini didn't stand a chance.

Smirking, Draco bit back a laugh. "Good luck, Zabini. I've learnt a lot over the summer, stuff you wouldn't even dream of -"

" - like learning how to keep hold of your wand?" Interrupted an amused-sounding voice from behind. Zabini's eyes rose as he scanned the intruder; spinning around, Draco's words sputtered to a stop when he saw that Harry Potter had approached silently from behind, looking entertained.

"What do _you _want, Potter?" Draco asked irritably. "I was just about to turn Zabini into a platypus, and _you're _interrupting me."

"Actually, it's more about what _you _want, Malfoy," Potter replied in a deceptively pleasant voice. He held up the wand clutched in his left hand; it looked familiar. In fact, it almost looked like...

"My wand!" Draco spluttered furiously. "How - what - _hand it over, Potter, or I'll jinx you into a jelly!" _

"Good luck doing that without your wand, Malfoy," Potter replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes and trying, unsuccessfully, to hide his grin. "You must've dropped it in the dungeons. Running away from Parkinson, I'm guessing - she was looking for you in an old classroom."

"Give it back!" Draco tried his best at a demanding tone: it came out as a childlike whine. He felt vulnerable without his wand; it was unusual for him to feel like this, cornered like one of those dungeon-rats Crabbe and Goyle liked torturing.

"Yeah, yeah," Potter rolled his bright-green eyes again, and Draco's stomach gave a lurch. Probably something to do with the fact Potter was acting so flippant when the survival of _Draco's wand _was on the line.

"Um - excuse me, Draco," Zabini sounded annoyed, standing behind Draco - "but are we going to finish this, or not?"

"In a minute!" Draco turned back to face Zabini, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "I'll get my wand back, we can finish our argument, I'll turn you into a platypus, it'll be like Potter never interrupted."

"Oh, sorry," Potter's eyes widened in mock-innocence, "was I interrupting something _personal_?"

"_You _be quiet for a minute," Draco spun back around, trying not to get too dizzy, to face Potter. "Just hand over my wand, and then you go back to your pumpkin-juice-and-warm-fires common room and I can _finally _turn Zabini into a platypus. Which is completely overdue by this point."

"And what do I get in return?" Potter enquired in a teasing voice; with the skill of a born-Seeker, he flipped the wand in the air and caught it in the same hand.

"You get to see me in a crappy mood - "

" - Ooh, lucky me -"

" - and when I get my goddamn wand back, not even your Weasel-king bestie or Mudblood girlfriend will be able to protect you!"

Potter bristled. Understandable - despite his fallen-angel appearance, he was still the school's Golden Boy, and thus was 100% anti-swearword. "Don't call her a Mudblood! Her name's _Hermione_, and besides, she's not my girlfriend."

"Wonderful." Draco replied sarcastically; despite this, he was at least a _little _glad the Mudblood wasn't Potter's girlfriend. Only a little, mind you. Just because the Weasel-king was so obviously in love with her it constantly amused Draco.

"Draco - " Zabini started behind Draco, sounding annoyed.

" - one second, Zabini -"

" - one second until _what__, _hmm, Malfoy? Are you and Zabini going to get back together?"

"Shut the hell up, he's _not _my boyfriend!"

"Draco, I swear to God, if we don't start fighting in _three seconds, _I'm leaving -"

" - I want to duel too, but Potter's got my bloody wand, hasn't he - "

" - I _know, _you idiotic piece of - "

"Draco!"

All three boys froze as Pansy's voice called out, sounding more than a little upset. Harry Potter looked ready to start laughing, twirling Draco's wand around in circles; Blaise Zabini, with a roll of expressively dark eyes, sloped off and disappeared in shadows.

"Hand over my wand!" Draco hissed, in a much quieter voice.

"Well, I say worldwide rule of 'Finders Keepers' applies to this situation -"

"Draco!" Pansy called again, sounding much closer this time. Draco made a sound of distress in the back of his throat and imagined Pansy coming around the corner of the dungeon corridor: he and Potter standing only a couple of meters apart, completely alone...

Draco grabbed Potter's sleeve and dragged him, ignoring his sounds of complaints, down an adjacent corridor. A few feet down the corridor, Draco found what he was looking for: an old broom cupboard, used to house Slytherin brooms back in the years of never-never. Wrenching open the door - which squealed in protest - Draco shoved Potter inside, continuing to ignore him.

"Draco?" Pansy's voice was alarmingly close: it was almost as though she was standing right behind him.

Draco was hit by an overpowering sensation of irritation and disgust: he didn't _want _to talk to Pansy. He could run away - but that wasn't his style. Besides, the Slytherin dungeons were an Unplottable labyrinth of identically gloomy corridors, and he was just as likely to run into Pansy rather than run away from her.

His nose wrinkling in disgust, Draco decided he'd have to do the unthinkable. Something so disgusting only lowlifes like Goyle, or Zabini, even considered it.

Get into a broom cupboard. With _Harry Potter. _

And not even a very clean broom cupboard, at that.

**Dear me, Draco. Are you sure you didn't plan this?**  
_I bet he did u _

Thank you for reading! x


	4. Chapter 4

"Draco!"

Striding down the corridor, Pansy craned her neck around a door frame and peered inside. It was another old classroom; cobwebbed and freezing cold, she turned away and sighed heavily. She _knew _she'd heard Draco's voice: smooth, angelic, perfect. He'd been angry, arguing with someone. _Girlfriend_?

_No. _Draco couldn't have a girlfriend... Pansy's stomach writhed with worry. What if he did? Would she then be forgotten?

Oh God, what if it was_ Daphne Greengrass_? No. That would just end Pansy's world. Did Draco think Daphne was prettier than Pansy? No way. But did he?

Wait. What if it was a _Gryffindor? _No - Draco wouldn't do that to her. Though Draco was _definitely _handsome enough to pull any girl in the whole school, he wouldn't want one of those scummy do-gooders. He'd want a Slytherin... a girl he knew well, a girl who'd always been there for him... a girl like _Pansy... _

A clatter sounded suddenly, loud and brittle in the enclosed corridors. Pansy leaped to attention, dismissing all her worries. Draco _definitely _liked her. He didn't have a choice - she liked _him, _wanted _him, _and what Pansy Parkinson wanted, she got. Just thinking about his white-blond hair, his porcelain skin, his sky-blue eyes, set her heart fluttering...

Turning down a corridor, Pansy paused at a dingy old broom cupboard. It sounded as though the crash had come from here; she stood a few feet away, listening carefully for any more noises.

Surely - _surely - _Draco wouldn't hide from her? The whole 'Draco-has-a-girlfriend' theory jumped to the forefront of Pansy's mind, and she bit her lip.

She wanted to _know..._

_._

_._

_._

"You're standing on my foot, _idiot_," Draco hissed in as loud a voice as he dared. It was virtually pitch-black inside the broom cupboard, and very tight; he wanted to shove Potter as far away as possible, but was scared he'd miss and make a loud noise. And the last thing he needed was Pansy finding them both in here.

"You're the one who shoved me in here," Potter retorted lazily, and rather than sounding annoyed or impatient, he sounded close to laughing. Draco scowled.

"You should've just given me back my wand when I told you to, Potter," Draco replied grouchily, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against one of the walls.

"You're the one who dropped it."

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Draco hissed, taking a tiny step forward; shifting his weight threw him off balance, and swearing colourfully, he grabbed Potter's arm to keep himself upright.

"Draco!"

Both were silent; Pansy's voice echoed down the corridors, nasal, annoying, a plaintive wheedle in her tone. Draco stood stock-still, his breathing shallow and nervous. He glanced up at Potter's shadowed face (annoyed to find Potter was a couple of inches taller than him).

"Don't say anything," Draco warned in the quietest of whispers.

"What will you do if I _do _say something?" Potter's murmur was teasing, gleeful. "You don't have a wand, I do, and your girlfriend's prowling down the corridors ready to tear out your intestines if you get into her bad-books."

"I'll - I'll - " Draco was stumped. He wanted to hit his enemy, punch him, kick him, but Draco wasn't built like an athlete: he was skinny, edge-worn, and was about as likely to hit himself as he was to hit Potter.

"Just what I thought." Potter sounded amused; he opened his mouth wide, took in a deep breath. Draco knew what was coming.

Ignoring his squeamishness, Draco slammed his palm across Potter's mouth before he managed to call Pansy's name. Pressing Potter into the broom cupboard wall, a few old Comet broomsticks clattered noisily to the ground; ignoring the strange sensation of Harry Potter's body against his, Draco held his breath as footsteps approached their hiding-place.

"Draco?" Pansy's voice was soft, suspicious. Draco could imagine her expression: her tiny eyes narrowed, her lips pursed, cracking her knuckles in preparation.

He gulped, and put a hand to where he was pretty sure his intestines were. He _liked _his intestines where they were.

Potter grinned against his hand. It was a strange sensation, really, Harry Potter's mouth moving against Draco's palm. Putting his strange feelings aside, Draco concentrated on being as silent as physically possible. Mercifully, Potter was silent: maybe the thought of Pansy, ripping out both their intestines, encouraged him to keep quiet.

Draco's heartbeat was so loud he was sure Pansy could hear it. _Tha-Thump, tha-thump, tha-thump. _

But, after several agonizing seconds, it appeared he was wrong - because Pansy moved on, her clumsy footsteps moving away from the broom closet. Draco's sigh of relief pierced the unsettling silence that had fallen between him and Potter.

"Is she far enough gone, d'you think?" Draco muttered cautiously.

"Probably," Potter murmured against his hand, his breath warm against Draco's palm. The sensation sent shivers up Draco's arm, and he quickly pulled his hand away and refused to meet Potter's burning green eyes - for he was staring down at Draco, apparently amused.

Being in this broom cupboard was making Draco feel _strange. _Not at all violated or sickened like he'd thought it would.

_Shit. _Goyle's attractions were getting to him, obviously.

"Am I allowed to get out now, Malfoy?" Potter enquired lazily; Draco rolled his eyes.

"Fine, fine. You'd better give me back my wand when we get out, though."

"Whatever you say, Malfoy," Potter teased, placing masculine, long-fingered hands on Draco's shoulders and moving Draco to the side. "I guess I _did _just ruin your and Zabini's relationship..."

"How many times do I have to tell you - " Draco began, irritated - and in his irritation, his occupation with the conversation, Draco forgot about the old Comet broomsticks. As Potter moved to the door, Draco tripped over the broomsticks, his legs tangling with broomsticks and Potter's legs and old Quidditch robes.

The two boys sprawled out of the broom cupboard, the old doors banging open, broomsticks clattering around them as though they'd fallen from the sky. Harry Potter landed first, on his back, his glasses falling from his face and landing a few feet away.

Draco Malfoy landed a millisecond later, his eyes screwed shut, his heart hammering at the shock of falling. His mind was still processing the fact he was falling.

Slamming against the fallen form of Harry Potter, Draco's mouth collided with his enemy's.

Draco had only been kissed a couple of times, and he'd never _initiated _a kiss; if that was even what this counted as, lying over Harry Potter (his arch-nemesis, Draco reminded himself sternly) after tumbling out of a broom cupboard.

In his panic, Draco was uncertain of what to do. All he could hear was his heart again, like Pansy was standing outside the broom cupboard. _Tha-Thump, tha-thump, tha-thump... _His mouth had lingered on his enemy's for far too long. How long had it been? Seconds? Minutes?

Jerking back, Draco pressed the back of his hand to his mouth and blinked repeatedly, noticing his surroundings for the first time in what felt like a while.

An old box had fallen open a few feet away; from inside, several dozen Golden Snitches had fluttered out. The watery, pale light that cast eerie shadows in the dungeons caught their glimmering surfaces, throwing rays of amber light everywhere in the corridor.

"Huh," Potter commented in a hoarse voice, sounding a little winded (given that Draco was sitting on his stomach, it wasn't surprising, but Draco was far too distracted to realise). "So the Slytherins _have _been hoarding old Snitches. I've always wondered."

"Should we put them back?" Draco wondered aloud, watching in awe as a Snitch darted closer, hovering a few inches away from his nose.

"I'd try, if you weren't sitting on me," Potter remarked - his voice was, once again, amused - as though he was about to burst out laughing.

"I - I - I -" Draco stammered, eyes wide. He rolled off Potter and straightened quickly, brushing off dust and cobwebs. Potter stood up soon after, smirking at Draco as though he'd made a hilarious joke at Draco's expense.

Then, with a Seeker's precision, Potter grabbed the Snitches one by one, gently pressing them back into the box. Draco dithered on the side-lines, desperate for his wand, his cheeks (and other less mentionable places) feeling as though they were on fire.

Eventually, Potter was done. Draco wordlessly handed him the old Comet broomsticks, then the moth-bitten Quidditch robes; Potter stowed them away with a sigh of relief.

"Finally," he yawned, stretching his arms. "Next time you and your girlfriend decide to have an argument, _don't _drag me into it." He started to walk away; unimpressed, Draco grabbed the back of his robes.

"Not so fast! What about my wand?"

"Oh, _yeah_!" Potter grinned devilishly; he tossed Draco's wand into the air and Draco scrabbled forward, brow furrowed, stumbling forward to grab his wand before it hit the ground. White blond hair flopped in his eyes in messy locks; Draco got the feeling he probably looked distinctly disheveled.

"You're welcome." Potter called, waving a hand as he stalked away.

"I wasn't going to say thank-you, idiot!" Draco yelled after him, clutching his wand to his chest and staring after the disappearing figure. Draco's eyes narrowed into slits. If Potter _dared _to mention what'd happened... Draco's reputation would be ruined forevermore. But Potter wouldn't. Draco got the impression Potter wouldn't want to ruin _his _reputation, either.

Because it was kind of his fault. Slightly. A teensy bit. Whatever.

It _definitely _wasn't Draco's fault.

***dances back and forth, wiggling her arms and singing loudly*  
**_Harry and Draco, hiding from Pansy,  
K-I-S-S-I-N-G_

Sorry Draco but I waited as long as I could -/u/-


	5. Chapter 5

The mark on Draco's left forearm was tingling.

Absent-mindedly, he rubbed it with his knuckles, staring straight ahead without really seeing.

Arriving back in the Slytherin common room, he'd slipped into his dormitory and taken a long, hard look at his reflection in the mirror by Zabini's bed.

Perhaps it was just because he _knew _something had happened. But either way, he looked - different. His cheeks were flushed, a worried look had pasted itself across his face, and his eyes were much brighter than necessary. Not a good sign, all in all. It was lucky, really, that Pansy hadn't found him yet.

"Back, are we, Draco?" Slinking into the dormitory wearing a smug smirk, Blaise Zabini flicked back a dark lock of hair and sighed dramatically. "And I'd thought you'd want to stay longer with your _boyfriend_."

"Yeah, whatever," Draco muttered distractedly, gazing into the distance: realising what he'd said, Draco blinked several times and opened his mouth to correct himself.

But Blaise beat him to it with a crow of delight and triumph. "Wait, so I was _right?_ He _is _your boyfriend? God, the look on Pansy's face will be hilarious when she finds out!"

Draco took a second to appreciate the fact that he and Blaise had an equally sadistic view on 'friendship' before retorting acidly. "He's _not _my boyfriend!"

"You just confirmed it!" Blaise argued with a grin. Making a guttural sound in the back of his throat (lost for words for the first time in years) Draco pushed past Zabini and started down the hallway to the common room to collect his books for Defence Against the Dark Arts.

"Don't try and hide it, Draco!" Zabini called after him. "I _know _you like him!"

Draco increased his speed and ended up walking straight into Pansy (he seemed to be walking into a range of people today). Practically bouncing off her spherical frame, Draco backed up a couple of paces, cursing himself and his pale skin as his cheeks erupted in flames. She hadn't _heard, _had she?

"Pansy!" Draco choked out with splutter-like laugh. "What a coincidence!"

"Draco!" Pansy mewled in what she probably thought was a seductive feline pur. It came out low and hoarse, like Goyle's voice when he woke up every morning. Not attractive. "Where have you been?"

Deciding that saying 'in a broom cupboard with Harry Potter' would raise some awkward questions, Draco searched for a valid excuse. "I - uh - needed a walk. I was feeling a bit upset. About my father, and all."

"Oh, yes, of course," Pansy replied sympathetically, patting Draco's shoulder with a meaty hand. "I'm so sorry. I'm always here for you Draco."

_Unfortunately. _Draco added in his mind with a mental eye-roll. Pansy's persistence never failed to simultaneously annoy him and amuse him. Brushing past her, Draco stalked into the common room; he didn't miss the way Daphne Greengrass' eyes followed his movements as he stooped to throw his bag over his shoulder.

"Ready to go, Draco?" Crabbe enquired dutifully; both he and Goyle stood by the common room exit, bags slung over their shoulders. Draco - ever the loyal 'friend' - had no idea what they'd elected for N.E. , both being incompetent to the extreme; he knew they'd passed Defence Against the Dark Arts due to their proficiency with the Dark Arts, but that was it.

"Yes." Draco nodded swiftly, concealing a grimace as Pansy clutched at his hand. Her hand was cold and clammy; goosebumps of revulsion spread up Draco's arm and he pulled away from her as subtly as possible. "Let's go, then."

The four began ascending the staircases to reach the Defence corridor.  
Crabbe and Pansy began nattering about their holidays once again; Goyle, entirely fixated upon Blaise Zabini's backside (who was a staircase above them) forgot Draco was beside him and Draco, all too happy at the lack of useless conversation, concentrated solely on the curses he'd learnt over the summer, pointedly ignoring the ache in his forearm and the embarrassing memories from earlier.

When they finally reached the Defence corridor, they were the last ones there.

Instinctively, Draco's eyes sought out Potter. It was reflex by this point; seek, mock, laugh. That was pretty much the routine.

Potter was, naturally, stood by the Weasel King and the Mudblood. He looked the picture of relaxation as the Mudblood spoke, a look of anxiety on her face. Draco felt a twinge of irritation in his heart - how could Potter look so calm after what had happened earlier? Didn't it even _bother _him? They'd - they'd -

"Inside." Snape had appeared from the shadowy recesses of the classroom; several people flinched back at his sudden appearance.

Draco scowled momentarily, then composed his face into one of bored arrogance and strutted into the classroom. He absent-mindedly noted how quickly Snape had made the room his own; the curtains were drawn and candles cast flickering golden light, bringing the new, obscure images of torture into relief.

Unlike several students - whose mouths had drifted open with horror - Draco wasn't disturbed by the pictures. He'd seen worse, after all.

"Wow," Crabbe breathed appreciatively, evidently liking the new decor. "_So _tasteful."

And he wasn't even being sarcastic, Draco noted with mild disgust.

The group of them moved to sit down at the front of the class; Draco was intrigued as to how Snape would conduct his lesson. Either way, it was bound to be interesting. Potter's surly look clearly said he wasn't impressed by this choice of teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts (and privately, Draco agreed), and an argument was sure to erupt eventually.

"I haven't told you to take out your books," Snape breathed once they'd all entered the shady room. From the row beside, the Mudblood quickly stowed away the book she'd retrieved and then turned to gaze at Snape with rapt attention. Draco rolled his eyes at her enthusiasm.

Beside her, the Weasel King looked worried - no doubt speculating what atrocities Snape would put them through. Potter was visibly irritated, a finger tapping the desk surface, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Neither had the enthusiasm of their bushy-haired companion.

"You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe." Snape began, his dark eyes scanning the class with clear contempt. Draco hid a smirk behind his hand. "Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion I'm surprised so many of you scraped an O.W.L. in this subject."

Draco rested his chin in his palm, boredom mounting. Hopefully there'd be a practical soon, and then Draco would be able to jinx Zabini without getting into trouble. Draco's attention drifted as his brain threw up hopeful pictures of Zabini writhing in pain; Zabini as a mole, Zabini in several, dismembered pieces, Zabini stuffed into a small cardboard box.

"Has an Inferius been seen, then?" Parvati Patil's high, trembling voice was unstable, as though she were on the brink of tears. "Is it definite, is he using them?"

_Probably. _Draco thought darkly to himself. _And much, much worse. _

"The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past," Snape replied dismissively; Draco got the impression he was having similar thoughts to Draco. "Which means you would be well-advised to assume he might use them again. Now you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of non-verbal spells. What is the advantage of a non-verbal spell?"

Snape swept around the classroom, the pitch-black robes he always wore rippling with movement. His cold, desolate eyes scanned the students, pointedly ignoring the Mudblood as she leapt in her seat, arm waving in the air. Snape, finally admitting defeat, turned to face her, lip curling with revulsion. "Very well - Miss Granger?"

"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform, which gives you a split-second advantage," the Mudblood babbled enthusiastically, eyes bright. She was probably expecting praise, Draco thought scathingly.

"An answer copied almost word for word from _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six," _Snape sneered - Draco couldn't help but snort at how true it was, earning himself a glower from each member of the Golden Three - "but correct in essentials."

After a few more minutes of low explanation, Snape divided the class up into pairs to attempt non-verbal spells. Despite his _obviously _advanced intelligence, Draco struggled to produce the curse that would reduce Zabini to a mound of ashes, much to Draco's frustration and Zabini's amusement.

Well, whatever. Draco was far too interested in watching the infamous Harry Potter; tension lashed between him and Snape, and Draco could see a storm on the horizon, which he watched approach with glee.

Draco's excitement heightened when Snape paused by Potter and the Weasel King; the hopeless red-head was purple with concentration, trying _awfully _hard to produce a spell. Potter looked bored and somewhat amused - probably the reason behind Snape's obvious irritation.

"Pathetic, Weasley," Snape barked after a few moments. "Here - let me show you -" Raising his own wand with a glimmer in his eye, Snape turned to Potter and, looking startled, Potter quickly produced a shield without any consideration for non-verbal spells.

"_Protego_!"

The Shield ballooned so quickly Snape was thrown back into a desk; several students stumbled backwards as well. Draco blinked, slightly awestruck at the power of the Shield.

"Do you remember me telling you we were practising _non-verbal _spells, Potter?" Snape snarled angrily. Draco grinned, unable to help himself; beside him, Crabbe and Goyle began to chortle unattractively.

"Yes," Potter replied stiffly, his green eyes blazing behind the glass of his circular spectacles.

"Yes _sir_." Snape reminded Potter irritably.

"There's no need to call me "sir", Professor." Harry Potter retorted. Draco's mouth drifted open at the insolence, but at the same time, a part of him had burst out laughing. Obviously Potter wasn't as dumb as the Slytherins made him out to be.

Not that Draco believed anything anyone told him about Potter. Potter was _Draco's _arch-nemesis, and Draco knew him better than anyone else, after all.

.

.

**Hey guys!  
**Sorry it's been so long since I updated x

_Yeah this is kind of a boring chapter. It'll get better; promise! Apologies for any mistakes! :)_


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